


Paranormal Immunity

by Oblitatron



Series: Flirting With Disaster [1]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Common Cold, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Not entirely canon non-compliant, Only mentions of Pariah Dark and Jack only appears briefly, the usual gross descriptions of having a cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblitatron/pseuds/Oblitatron
Summary: Or lack thereof. Vlad and Fright Knight learn the hard way that ghosts aren’t as immune to human diseases as they originally thought.
Relationships: Fright Knight/Vlad Masters
Series: Flirting With Disaster [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128347
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Paranormal Immunity

His watch beeped the Plasmius Portal’s alarm, interrupting what _should_ have been an entirely delightful first sip of butterscotch hot cocoa on a crisp October night. With a sigh, Vlad settled the mug back down to its coaster and quickly brought up the data from his remote sensors. It was a safety measure on top of a safety measure, considering his portal’s defenses (far superior to those of the idiot Fenton’s) would only allow a ghost through bearing a specific key signature. Still, in his twenty-odd years of experience, it was better to be safe than sorry. Only two keys existed in any dimension and both bearers were formidable warriors, but he knew better than to think they were infallible.

Yet sure enough, his security video feed showed him a familiar and welcome ghost, and Vlad smiled to himself as he settled back into his armchair. He hadn’t been expecting a visit for quite some time, given the month’s festivities and his own erratic schedule. He was reveling in the pleasant surprise and the exquisitely tasteful and still-steaming cocoa when Fright Knight ascended into the room. Vlad eyed him over the rim of his copper pumpkin-shaped mug. Truth be told, he’d come to expect more dramatic entrances from his boyfriend and boyfriend’s steed. Regardless of time of day or how long he’d been in the castle (with or without Vlad’s knowledge), Fright Knight burst into rooms with enough gusto that could blow a door off its hinges if he ever used them. He strode with purpose. He spoke with authority. He was the master of terror and harbinger of doom. He wore a cape of purple flames and commanded a horse with canines, for Pete’s sake. The man had earned the right to dramatic entrances whenever he so pleased.

Tonight did not seem to be one of those nights. Fright Knight sat atop Nightmare, who pawed irritably at the ground, and stared into the ephemeral flames of the grand fireplace until Vlad called, “To what do I owe the pleasure, cupcake?”

Green eyes narrowed. “Must I require a purpose to congress here?”

“You know quite well that you don’t. I just thought you’d be out terrorizing small children or coming up with dastardly plans to rule the universe. It’s rare for you to take a break.”

He was prepared for a quip of some sorts, whether it be about how diligent and, in the words of others, “obsessive,” Vlad was in his own work or to point out those were bold words coming from a man cozied up in a leather armchair with artisan hot cocoa, a roaring fire in an antique fireplace, and dressed in what was surely the world’s plushest bathrobe and matching slippers. Instead, Fright Knight returned his gaze to the fire and admitted, “I am weary.”

“Oh?” Fright Knight shrugged, still avoiding looking at Vlad, intentionally or not. Vlad suspected it was the former; for all their familiarity, Fright Knight was still a powerful entity and unused to showing weakness in front of anyone, except perhaps Nightmare. His last ally would have eradicated him without hesitation for any show of vulnerability, even though all were helpless before Pariah Dark. _Or rather,_ had _been helpless_ , Vlad thought smugly as he recounted the memory. Turns out all it took was a little lying, theft, distraction, manipulation, improvising, and a life-sucking ecto-skeleton suit to check that particular nuisance.

Still, the sight before him didn’t sit right. Literally, as Fright Knight listed towards the fire and Nightmare pranced to re-gain balance. It was hardly more than an exaggerated, full-body twitch before he righted himself, but Nightmare snorted all the same. When Fright Knight did look over again, every armor-clad and muscular inch of him seemed to shrink. “It is difficult to rest in the Ghost Zone.”

“Yes, I can imagine.” That was easy enough to interpret. “Why don’t you come down from there and make yourself comfortable?”

Vlad busied himself re-arranging his former set-up onto the sofa nearest the fire, allowing Fright Knight to dismount on his own and spare him the disgrace of a helping hand. Instead of giving Vlad an uncomprehending stare or scoffing at his sarcasm, Fright Knight instead murmured to Nightmare and ran a gloved hand over his mount’s neck several times before making his way to the sofa. Nightmare curled up like a ghoulish, hooved dog in front of the fireplace.

Fright Knight did balk when Vlad lifted a blanket for him and gestured to his own lap. Only after some obstinate argument and several humbling attempts to manipulate physical and metaphysical physics did Vlad succeed in getting Fright Knight to lie down, covered by a stylish afghan blanket, on the couch with his helmeted head in Vlad’s now-ghost lap.

For all his studies of ghosts and expeditions into the Ghost Zone, Vlad still found himself surprised. He wasn’t sure if Fright Knight actually fell asleep or not but looking back, he equally uncertain if he’d ever seen a true ghost rest before. All the times he lost consciousness as Plasmius resulted in awakening as Vlad. Though he _tired_ in his ghost form, he couldn’t tell if he ever hit true sleep unless he was human again. He knew other ghosts weakened after prolonged battle, but his assumption thus far was that decreased activity levels was enough to restore their energy, not explicit rest.

All matters for another time, he thought, watching the purple fire flicker from Fright Knight’s helmet. For now, he would do what wealthy men did best, which was bask in well-earned treats and savor delicious, festive drinks re-heated from the flames of his boyfriend’s head.

* * *

As romantic an image Vlad had envisioned, at his age sleeping on a couch was a poor idea on its own. Sleeping upright on a couch or half-slouched against an armored ghost, with a heavy helmet crushing veins, was a perfect recipe for backaches and blood clots. Given that no hospital could accurately diagnose or treat him, Vlad did strive to avoid injury when he could.

Plus, between the blanket, the bathrobe, the fire, and the warm, tasty beverage, he’d lasted all of twenty minutes before the profuse sweating became too unbearable.

But now it was morning and Vlad was partway through making breakfast and thoroughly enjoying a mug of _true_ French-vanilla coffee when Fright Knight staggered through the far wall. Vlad was tickled to see the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, purple fire harmlessly phasing through it.

“Good morning, sugar loaf.”

“Indeed.”

Vlad smiled, reducing the heat on the stove when he realized segments of the bacon were burning. “How are you feeling? Ready for another day of horror and world domination?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I wasn’t going to mention it until after this month, once things calmed down, but if you have a moment, I’d like to discuss a discovery I found in the…” Vlad trailed off, bacon and tong forgotten in his hand as he scrutinized the ghost sitting at his table. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Yes.”

“…are you really?”

“I am fine,” Fright Knight insisted past the gloves cradling his head.

“You don’t _look_ fine.”

“I appear as I always do.”

“Is your voice… _echoing_ inside that helmet of yours?”

Fright Knight sighed, then hauled himself to his feet. “Until next time, Plasmius.” Vlad struggled for a moment, wresting back his instinct to chase Fright Knight until he relocated the bacon off the burner and cut off the flow of propane, muttering under his breath until he was free to pursue. Fright Knight hadn’t gotten far and took less convincing than Vlad expected to return to the table. Vlad’s unmet expectations turned to suspicion when Fright Knight waited patiently for Vlad to scour his mansion for another chair that would fit at the small table so they could sit down and talk like the mature spirits they were.

“It is nothing,” Fright Knight insisted for the fourth time, enunciating each word so they’d carry past the reverberation in his helmet.

“Clearly it’s not,” Vlad snapped, taking his eyes off the Ghost Zone’s most stubborn Halloween specter to appraise his congealing bacon. “This isn’t like you, Fright. I’ve seen you subservient to that fool of a king, Pariah, but this is different. If you’re injured or afflicted by some ghostly phenomenon, I need to know about it.”

“Why?”

 _“Why_? Because…” Vlad stopped and forced himself to re-assess the situation. About ten _because_ ’s begged to be said, but Fright Knight’s turtle-like posture begged attention more. Since parting ways with Pariah and joining forces, Vlad and Fright Knight had been on a number of excursions together. They’d gone on missions that required tremendous skill, strength, cleverness, and teamwork. They’d spent hours poring over maps and schematics, mostly of the Ghost Zone but also of new inventions Vlad engineered or of key locations on Earth. And more recently, they’d spent time together not as The Spirit of Halloween and Plasmius but as Fright Knight and Vlad Masters. And as Vlad slowly remembered how to date and re-learn how to care for someone other than himself, Fright Knight was introduced to a seemingly endless array of an existence outside of battle, terror, conquest, and eons of oblivion between the drawings of Soul Shredder.

Vlad had assumed he’d seen Fright Knight exhausted before, but upon recollection he was no longer positive of it. Maybe he only thought that because he knew Fright Knight had seen him battered and weakened before, so naturally the opposite must be true as well. Even so, that had always been in the heat of battle, when given the option to press on or stand down…well, standing down had never been an option for Fright Knight. Either Pariah ordered it, or he didn’t. And Vlad, master of his own fate, was beginning to understand that was a bind he’d never had to consider before.

Taking a deep breath, Vlad appreciated what last night meant under a new light. Reaching across the table, he held out both his hands, palm up, and smiled encouragingly when Fright Knight released one hand from his head and placed it across both of Vlad’s. “Because we’re partners, pumpkin, and partners support each other not only in the best of times, but when we grapple with our lowest selves. If you know what the problem is, I’d like to help. I _do_ have the world’s best ghost analyzing equipment at my disposal, if I do say so myself.”

Fright Knight fidgeted nervously and eventually gestured at the stove. Vlad took the hint and began cooking again, prying the bacon out of the solidified grease as Fright Knight said, “I do not know what ails me. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“…I am fatigued. More fatigued than I would be if I dueled a hundred able soldiers. No, a thousand.”

“Go on.”

“It feels as though a fog has descended into my mind. My eyes are clear but focusing my thoughts into action is a monumental effort.

“It also feels as though there is a beast lying on my face and chest, its fur suffocating me if I required breath.”

“…uh-huh…”

“And ther— _achoo_!”

“Bless y—” Vlad heard himself and stopped short. When he glanced over his shoulder, Fright Knight was staring at him with wide eyes. Quirking an eyebrow, he pointed with his bacon-laden tongs. “Did you just sneeze?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you—” Vlad closed his mouth when Fright Knight inhaled sharply and sneezed explosively. Then he did it again and on the fourth time Vlad felt the corners of his mouth lifting into a disbelieving smile. The sneezing, the fatigue, the mental haze, the sore throat. The pieces fell into place and Vlad began to chuckle.

“This is— _achoo_ —no— _ach_ —laughing matter,” Fright Knight protested. Vlad leaned against the counter for support, wrapping his free arm around his midsection as he cackled. “What devilry is this?”

“Oh, Fright.” Vlad righted himself and used his thumb to wipe away the tears collecting on his eyelashes. “It’s no devilry. You just have a cold.”

As soon as he said it he knew he was right, and the relief paired with the comedic solemnity Fright Knight received the news brought on a fresh wave of mirth. Fright Knight demanded Vlad explain himself and he complied, finally condemning his cooked, congealed, re-heated, and now burned bacon to the trash as he did so. It took the better part of an hour, mostly because Fright Knight interrupted with questions every other sentence and was skeptical that  
invisible particles could affect someone of his stature so severely.

“They are not invisible, just microscopic,” Vlad stressed.

“And swift?”

“They don’t have a life on their own, Fright. And would you please cover your nose when you sneeze?”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how these germs are spread. Infected individuals such as yourself come into close contact with other individuals and the virus spreads between that close space.”

“Then I do not believe that is what is affecting me. I’ve come across no such individual.”

“I—what—of course you have. The last time you visited I was just getting over a cold of my own.”

Fright Knight froze, staring directly into Vlad’s eyes with an alarmed and open expression. Then, in a tone of deep betrayal, he whispered, “You did this to me?”

“I…no! Not intentionally, at least. Don’t look at me like that,” he added defensively when Fright Knight continued his stare of wounded disbelief. “I didn’t think anything of it! I was mostly over the darned thing when you visited. It didn’t cross my mind that I was still contagious, or you could catch it.”

Eventually, his explanation of one of Earth’s most ordinary maladies came round to assurances that if this was truly just a common cold, Fright Knight would be relieved of his symptoms within two weeks, probably less. Surely the blink of an eye for an immortal ghost.

* * *

“I do not think I shall survive this,” Fright Knight announced later that evening.

Vlad raised an eyebrow at the forlorn, huddled mess of blankets and Nightmare and armor on his study floor. Frankly, this was becoming preposterous. Upon learning he was subject to this “pitiful excuse for a mortal disease” for the better part of a fortnight, Fright Knight swiftly succumbed to a fit of sulking that Vlad might have found impressive if it weren’t so unwarranted and irksome. He truly thought Fright Knight would have demonstrated more resilience, given his overall reputation and bearing, but…

“Of course you’ll survive, Fright. It’s just a cold.”

“A cold marsh of desolation and misery with no foreseeable end,” he agreed bitterly.

“Two weeks, Fright. _Two weeks._ ”

“How can you be so certain?”

He was about to snappishly reply that _of course_ it would and to stop being so dour, but the question struck a deeper nerve, a state of being that Vlad could never tolerate and never wanted to admit to.

Ignorance.

Using his boyfriend as a case study would be inappropriate, he knew, on both scientific and emotional scales. But as far as he knew (and Vlad would be the first to say he knew a lot) no other ghost had ever contracted a cold. At least, not a full ghost. Vlad was still susceptible to human diseases, but the first couple years of his status as a half-ghost, half-human taught him that diseases still ran their normal courses through him. He wasn’t sure about Danny.

Ghosts were fundamentally different than humans, despite their similarities. Ectoplasm had as much in common as blood and flesh and bone as acrylic paint had with a beehive. They weren’t opposites, but that left a lot of gray space between them. And Vlad, loathe as he was to admit it, had been thinking about this from a human perspective. The existence-span of a ghost was one of the many fundamental and blatant differences between the two species. Maybe it _would_ take longer than two weeks for this cold to run its course.

Vlad, earlier sentiments aside, wasn’t sure he had two weeks’ worth of patience, especially since Fright Knight had given no hint to how long he’d quarantine himself at Vlad’s mansion. Plus, Vlad did enjoy research.

“…I suppose I can’t be,” Vlad conceded, rushing on when he noticed panic surfacing in Fright Knight’s eyes, “but as I mentioned earlier, I am in possession in some of the greatest ghost-related technology in either dimension.” Fright Knight still looked skeptical, so Vlad dazzled him with a reassuring and confident smile. “Between my equipment, my brilliance, and our combined efforts, we’ll have these questions answered in no time.”

* * *

“Theoretically, what do you suppose would happen to a ghost if it contracted, oh, say, the common cold?”

“The cold?!” The booming voice made Vlad wince. “Pass me that wrench, would you V-Man? I suppose if ghosts _were_ able to catch the cold, the virus would have to integrate with their ectoplasmic cellular structure. Or not; the ghost could reject it entirely. But if it _did_ mix with the ectoplasm, the ectoplasm is powerful enough _could_ wipe out the cold within a matter of days.”

“You think?”

“Yes! Or they could be completely incompatible, and the cold could break down the very fibers of that ghost’s being.” Jack slid out from under the Fenton Skidder and took in Vlad’s blanched expression. “Who knows?! I certainly don’t.”

Vlad rubbed his forehand with one hand. “Is Maddie here?”

“She said something about inserting an excuse into something vague somewhere out of town for the day.” He frowned thoughtfully, no doubt dredging up the conversation earlier that morning from his tortoise den of a memory bank. “Or maybe it was the week. How long did you say you were staying again?”

“Of course she did,” Vlad muttered. He left shortly after that, making sure to give Danny a particularly emphatic, “Your father is an _idiot_ ,” on his way out the door.

* * *

Vlad decided a combination of highly scientific research and home remedies was the best route to take. He drew ectoplasmic samples from Fright Knight (who, it turned out, had an aversion to needles and endless curiosity of Vlad’s laboratory) and set himself to studying them under a microscope while Fright Knight was preoccupied with an entire cauldron of chicken noodle soup and a vat of ginger tea. Ghosts didn’t need food to survive, but Vlad didn’t think it would cause any harm. At best it would actually help and at second best Fright Knight would believe it was helping.

Unfortunately, since ghosts didn’t need to eat, many of them didn’t have a concept of an appetite either. It was hardly two hours later when Fright Knight demanded more healing liquids and Vlad had to explain the virtues of restraint.

All in all, it was a learning process, though most of what they learned was about each other. Vlad, for example, quickly realized Fright Knight had never cooked before, could demonstrate curiosity and a desire for independence that was endearing when it didn’t result in the near destruction of his state-of-the-art kitchen, and that his instinctual reaction to any obstacle or hindrance or threat was to attempt to stab it.

Even Vlad had to admit he should have seen that one coming.

Fright Knight, on the other hand, had never been on the receiving end of Vlad’s temper before, and learned that even if he were the more powerful of the two, there was something inherently jarring about being the target of his anger. They smoothed the ordeal over quickly enough, and Fright Knight took away the lessons that the flames from his sword were not suitable for starting a gas-fueled stovetop, he didn’t handle boredom well, and when you took his sword away from him he got very bored very quickly.

He was still uncertain about the chicken noodle soup.

Still, he resigned himself to a dull afternoon of feeling his achy head pound behind his mask and watching Halloween-themed movies on a TV screen that took up an entire wall. Some he liked better than others, though Nightmare fell asleep after the first few. But even if he ended up scoffing at them, they provided enough of a distraction from the stuffy nose and scratching cough and gave Vlad a few uninterrupted hours of work.

After the second full day, Fright Knight thanked Vlad for his assistance and declared he had neglected his duties for too long. Vlad almost tore out his hair right then and there for the sudden abandonment of his work, only for Fright Knight to promise to bring more chicken soup back when he returned. The break from each other did them both good, though haunting citizens of Earth and bringing nightmares to life didn’t seem to lift Fright Knight’s mood as much as either of them thought it would. The sudden increase in effort to fulfill the purpose of one’s existence seemed to weigh Fright Knight down physically and emotionally.

He was, however, becoming a skilled movie critic, which was a nice way for Vlad to unwind after a long day of research and ventures into the Ghost Zone or to high caliber pharmaceutical labs. Interestingly, Fright Knight had little patience for films with a heavier focus in psychology. He said it mattered little to his art; he let his sword handle mental trauma for him.

Vlad was careful with experimenting with home remedies. On one hand, to find something that worked or was a suitable placebo was important. On the other hand, Fright Knight was proving to be a fussy and particular patient and Vlad was proving himself to be an impatient caretaker. Between rescuing his material belongings from Fright Knight’s inexperience in handling a domestic life, research, outings, and spending time with his boyfriend, Vlad had little time to cater to each of Fright Knight’s whims. He ate the chicken soup and drank the ginger tea with no complaints, and that would suffice. Heaven forbid he start developing _preferences._

Yet they tried different methods. Food and beverage was a given, but Vlad also introduced Fright Knight to mindful intentions ( _”I am recovering swiftly_ ,” Fright Knight lied every morning and night), cough drops ( _”This candy is a disgrace,”_ he spat around the offensive tablet), and in this particular instance, unscented steam inhalation.

“I think I’m feeling something,” Fright Knight announced, bent over at the waist and gripping the bathtub with both hands. Vlad observed as the steam poured from the tub not only up and around the ghost, but through him.

“…are you certain?”

“Yes,” he replied definitively, staring into the water below him. “It is working.”

Vlad rolled his eyes, allowed fifteen more minutes for the session, and drained the tub before the vapor became too cooled. Fright Knight allowed Vlad to pat his mask and face dry of the steam and happily called for Nightmare to return to work.

His newfound optimism eased some of the tension out of Vlad’s own body, at least until that night. They were wrapped up with each other on the couch watching _Ghost Rider_ when a single sneeze spewed ectoplasm over their laps.

“For the love of all that is holy—”

“—what fiendish affliction is—”

“—it’s decongestion, you oblivious—” They both continued shouting while Vlad flew towards the nearest cleaning cupboard. He barely lowered voice as he phased back into the room, a box of paper towels in hand. He tossed a roll to Fright Knight and gestured to his dripping mask with it. “This is why we cover our noses when we sneeze,” he snarled, pressing one fistful of paper towels against the blankets and other against his thigh.

“This has never happened—”

“I know it hasn’t, that’s why I told you to _listen_ to me!”

“You didn’t warn me this would happen! I would hardly constitute this as ‘microscopic.’”

“The _germs_ are microscopic, not your, your, your ghost mucus!”

“My _what.”_

“Good grief, next thing you know you’ll be coughing up phlegm and spitting it across the room like some unsophisticated—”

“I’ll be _what_.”

“Never mind, never mind! Just…ugh, just keep one of these on hand at all times.” When they’d gotten the worst of it cleaned up, Vlad took off to shower and wonder if this was a situation where the dry-cleaners would maintain their high standards of cleanliness and discreet attitudes about the messes draped across their counters. Assuming, of course, that dry cleaning would be effective against ectoplasm stains.

Once he had calmed down a bit (and scrubbed off any last trace, imagined or not, of ectoplasmic mucus), Vlad admitted that this was probably a good sign. Like any human cold, decongestion usually signaled an upward trend towards recovery. When he explained it to Fright Knight, the ghost gave him a pointed look. “What?” Vlad demanded, still too irritable to resume cuddling, though he settled for sitting on the far side of the couch.

“I _told_ you it was working.”

Vlad could’ve sworn he was smirking under the mask. And even with the searing visual of ecto-mucus over his lap and expensive blankets (he swore he could still _feel_ it), Vlad almost grinned back. Even more so than decongestion, a sense of a humor was surely a sign of recovery.

* * *

With nothing else to go on, they continued their routine. Fright Knight did begin leaking ghostly mucus into the tub during the steam sessions, but Vlad let it be. If the tub drains could handle ectoplasm, wonderful. If not, he’d simply replace the drains.

They really were learning a lot this week.

* * *

It had been a rather miserable day for them both. Despite Vlad’s convictions that he was recovering, Fright Knight still felt as terrible as he had when he first arrived in his boyfriend’s parlor, only in a more wet and slimy way than a stuffy and stale one. He was still getting work done, but it was hard to capture the essence of fright and spookiness when he was sneezing or hacking every few minutes. His heart wasn’t in it, mostly because it was drowning in cough syrup and buried in chicken chunks.

And Vlad…well, Fright Knight still wasn’t sure what to make of him at times, ghost or human. It was part of his appeal, the mysterious mind lurking behind knowing eyes and a charming smile. Fright Knight had little need for keen intellect or charm for himself, but he was drawn to power and enjoyed the relief from the boredom that came from so many ghosts being so _predictable_. He was hardly one to talk, but it still wearied him. Unlike anyone else he had met, Vlad kept him guessing and his only constants were his unpredictability and his ego.

The second edge of that sword, however, was that Vlad was at times unpredictable and indiscernible to the point that Fright Knight didn’t realize he was facing the sharp side of the blade until it stung him. And while he knew he was more than a match for Vlad regarding strength, he felt wary of Vlad’s crafty nature and the equipment he created from that intelligence.

Most of all, he was wary of the softer sides of Vlad. The ones that called him ridiculous names that were not his own, the ones that fell asleep on him while watching a fictional story on a screen or allowed him to rest unharmed in his presence. That insisted on things like “walks” and “affection” and imagining what would happen _after_ they dominated both the Ghost Zone and Earth. Together.

Fright Knight was too tired and tired of being tired to muse on this. He wouldn’t call a ghost’s existence easy, but it seemed much less complicated than a human’s. Naturally, when he pointed this out to Vlad, whom he realized in hindsight was in a mood as good as his own, his statement snowballed into an…

He still wasn’t sure what an argument was, other than a disagreement that resulted in surrender or a duel. He never had to think of fights having layers of victories before. Or an end goal that wasn’t winning.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Vlad removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes, strained from days staring into a microscope and nights binging every horror movie known to man. “What are we talking about here? You’re so dismissive of the complications of human existence, but those complications are what allows us to overcome our weaknesses and develop new strengths.”

“Which is squandered by your short life spans.”

“Oh yes, because given an eternity most ghosts realize their fullest potential.”

“The passage of time is kind to none.”

Vlad put down his teacup before he shattered it. “What is this about? You’re unusually contrary tonight.”

Fright Knight shrugged the blankets tighter around him and leaned back against Nightmare. “…I am weary. I am weary of this affliction and of being at its mercy.”

“You have got to pull yourself together.”

“I am _leaking_ —”

“Yes, colds are dreadful, we all know it. But it’s hardly worth all the fuss. You are one of the most feared ghosts across dimensions. I personally have seen you overcome far worse injuries than a mere cold.”

Silence followed his words, and as Vlad returned to his book, he felt a twinge of guilt for his temper. He didn’t mind taking a “tough love” approach and genuinely thought Fright Knight would appreciate it more than being coddled, but Vlad knew partly he just wanted to be right and have some peace.

“It’s inside me.”

“…what?”

“This disease.” Fright Knight gestured to himself with a blanketed hand. “I have learned to endure pain inflicted upon me from outside forces. Claws, blades, ectoplasm rays, the like. But this illness has taken root inside of me. It controls me from within. I cannot overpower it or break it. It cannot be strangled or stabbed. I’ve never faced an opponent such as this before. I _cannot_ face it.”

Vlad appraised him and then stood abruptly. Assuming he was going to storm off in his self-important manner, Fright Knight closed his eyes and resigned himself to another purposeless night.

He actually flinched in surprise when Vlad joined him on the floor, black suit replaced with white and grays eye glowing red. The most striking difference, however, was that the scowl from a mere minute ago was replaced with something else entirely. The edges of his face had softened, and any anger dissipated into an expression more…sorrowful wasn’t the right word. Understanding, perhaps. Sympathetic. Perhaps pitying, if he felt such an emotion towards others or ever thought of him pathetic enough to be pitied.

He didn’t think that was the case.

Fright Knight scooted over to give Plasmius more room to lean against Nightmare’s flank and opened a few layers of blanket to ward off any chill permeating the well-heated mansion. Fright Knight knew it wouldn’t last; Vlad was unable to retain his ghost form in sleep and Fright Knight was too heavy a burden for his human form to bear. They didn’t speak for the rest of the night, but for once the silence didn’t put Fright Knight on high alert. With Nightmare’s head on his lap and his own head settling comfortably against Plasmius’s chest, with an occasional kiss pressed to the side of his helmet or thumb running across his palms, it was hard to fight a different sort of internal struggle. One where he succumbed not to misery but peace and where two weeks didn’t feel like an eternity but a fleeting, dreamy moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This was GOING to be a short “Ha-ha, Fright Knight gets a cold and hilarity ensues” but it rapidly became a pseudo-character study of what existence must look like to a ghost who’s singular purpose is terror and servitude and a half-ghost/half-human anomaly whose life was severely derailed in a tragic and completely avoidable accident and is smart enough to understand emotions but immature enough to be unable to master his own with a side of “How do I keep Vlad in character but also make him slightly less of a sociopath so he can have a functional and, dare I dream, healthy relationship?” 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


End file.
